BLOOD AND BETRAYAL

Chapter 13: Meeting with the brides

Morning light filtered through the heavy curtains of Victor’s bedroom, casting a muted glow across the room. He hadn’t truly slept. His mind had been a battlefield of decisions, playing through every move, every consequence. The weight of power, alliances, and now, marriage, pressed against his chest like a loaded gun.

A sharp knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Come in," he said, already knowing who it was.

Sophia stepped inside, her presence commanding yet reserved. She was dressed in a sleek black dress that clung to her curves, her dark eyes unreadable. The tension between them was palpable. She wasn’t just here for pleasantries.

Victor leaned against his desk, arms crossed. "I assume you didn’t come to check if I had a good night's sleep."

Sophia’s lips curled into a smirk, but there was no humor in it. "Hardly. We need to talk."

Victor gestured to the chair across from him, but she shook her head. "I’d rather stand."

He sighed. "Alright, then talk."

She studied him for a moment, as if weighing her words carefully. Then, she stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Alana’s playing a game, Victor. And she’s been playing it long before you even knew she existed."

Victor’s jaw tightened. "I figured as much. But elaborate."

Sophia’s gaze darkened. "She’s not just Don Rican’s niece. She’s his most trusted confidante. She handles things—quietly. People underestimate her because of her looks, her charm. But she’s ruthless. She’s been orchestrating things behind the scenes, watching you, testing you. She needed to see if you were strong enough to handle this world before she made her move."

Victor absorbed her words, his mind piecing together what he already suspected. "So backing out of the contract… was a test?"

Sophia nodded. "She wanted to see what you would do with freedom. If you’d take the easy way out or step up and claim power the way your father never could."

Victor ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. "And if I don’t marry her?"

Sophia’s expression was unreadable. "Then she’ll find another way to keep her influence in your empire. Alana isn’t the type to walk away without securing her place."

Victor studied her. "And you? Why are you telling me this? What’s your angle, Sophia?"

She tilted her head, a slow smile forming. "Consider it… an investment. I know you, Victor. You’re not like your father. You think before you act. And I’d rather be aligned with the devil I can predict than the one I can’t."

Victor chuckled darkly. "Flattering."

Sophia leaned in, her voice a whisper. "Just be careful. Alana isn’t just Don Rican’s pawn. She’s his queen."

Victor held her gaze, the weight of her words settling in his chest.

One game was ending, and another had just begun.

minutes later

Steam curled in lazy tendrils from the open bathroom door, the scent of vanilla and jasmine thick in the air. Alana stepped out, freshly showered, her damp skin glistening under the dim glow of the bedside lamp. A towel was wrapped loosely around her body, clinging to her curves, droplets of water trailing down her collarbone. She didn’t have time to dry off before she sensed it—him.

The distinct click of a safety being turned off.

She turned slowly, only to find herself staring down the barrel of a gun.

Victor stood by the door, his stance rigid, his eyes dark and unreadable. The gun in his grip was steady, unwavering, aimed right between her eyes. His shirt was still unbuttoned from earlier, his sleeves rolled up, tension radiating off him like heat from a furnace.

“You knew,” he said, his voice dangerously low.

Alana arched a brow, unimpressed. “You’ll have to be more specific, sweetheart.”

Victor’s jaw clenched, his grip on the gun tightening. “Don Rican. The letter. The contract. You knew everything and said nothing.”

Alana exhaled softly, her lips curving slightly. “And?”

Victor took a step closer, pressing the gun right against her forehead. Any other person would have flinched. Would have trembled. But Alana? She only smirked.

“You’re not going to shoot me, Victor.” Her voice was silky smooth, laced with something that made his pulse tick faster.

His finger hovered over the trigger. “Don’t test me.”

“Oh, I love a good test,” she whispered, tilting her head, her damp braids cascading over her shoulder. “But let’s be honest—you breaking into my room, holding a gun to my face… it’s not about answers, is it? It’s about control. You don’t like that I’ve had the upper hand this whole time.”

Victor glared, but his breathing had changed, just slightly. A flicker of frustration crossed his face—because she was right.

She leaned forward, her bare shoulder brushing against his chest. “You want to know why I didn’t tell you about Don Rican?” Her voice dipped lower, teasing. “Because I needed to see the man you’d become without the weight of his name hanging over you.”

Victor’s eyes flickered with something dark, something dangerous.

Alana let her towel slip slightly, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of smooth skin beneath. “And I must say…” She ran a finger down his forearm, her touch featherlight against his tensed muscles. “It’s been entertaining watching you prove yourself.”

Victor’s breathing was heavier now, his hand still gripping the gun but no longer with intent.

Alana slowly lifted her hand and traced the barrel with her fingertip, dragging it down until it rested against her chest. “Go on, Victor. Pull the trigger. If you really think I betrayed you… end it.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then, with a growl, Victor lowered the gun, grabbing her wrist instead, yanking her flush against him. “You’re playing with fire, Alana.”

She smirked, pressing her body against his, her lips dangerously close to his. “And you’re the one standing in the flames.”

Victor inhaled sharply, then shoved the gun back into its holster, his patience hanging by a thread. He turned, heading for the door, needing distance before he did something he couldn’t take back.

But before he left, Alana’s voice rang out, smooth and victorious.

“Good boy.”

Victor stilled. His fingers twitched at his side.

And then, without looking back, he left, slamming the door behind him.